Life After You
by Kaslyna
Summary: She was just wandering now, searching for a purpose until she met Elodie and found her way back home to him. Tate, Tiva, McAbby, Gabby, and Jibbs. Chapter 2 now up- with a steamy Tony/Kate flashback! :D Brought to you by hormones.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not something I'd typically write. :/ Anyways, spoilers for NCIS Seasons 1 and 2 and especially Twilight. Kate's POV of after she died and how she makes it back. You'll see. ;)**

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to someone, I don't know who.**

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Whoever "they" are, they're wrong, so wrong.

It's not like that at all. I remember the pain, like the kind you get when they stick needles in you in the doctor's office. Then I remember weakness, a dull ringing, everything swimming behind my eyelids, and I knew I was fading, I was dying. And then there was blackness.

There was a fierce trembling and a sound like a freight train next. It hurt. Why'd it have to hurt? Then I was opening my eyes and fear crept into me. I saw everything, everyone. I saw _me_, a bullet-hole in my head, lying on the roof, bleeding, Tony covered in blood, _my_ blood, and I choked. I was sobbing but no one heard my anguish; I was dead. When I'd passed out, I'd died.

I saw them, heard them, but why couldn't they see me, hear me?

* * *

Three months passed of my aimless wandering. I could see them, the others like me who'd been unfortunate enough to die, and I'd talked to one or two. But they didn't interest me. Only Tony did. Okay, fine, and his new partner, Ziva. I was envious of her. It was so unfair to me that I had to watch hopelessly as they flirted and she assimilated herself into my place. It should be _me_. And when they went undercover I sat on the windowsill and I wanted to kill her, but would good would that do? Then _I'd_ be stuck with her.

Sometimes, when I really couldn't take Tony and Ziva having eye-sex any longer, I'd go to Abby. I would sit beside her and occasionally touch her and she'd shiver. She didn't remember me in the day, but sometimes at night I'd catch her crying and looking at my photo and I'd wrap my arms around her. I'd place my lips in her hair and whisper softly into her ear and she'd seem to be comforted by me. I guess I liked knowing that I still meant something to Abby. I knew that Tony thought of me, too, as well as the rest of them, but it was too painful for Tony to remember me for so long.

But still I continued to ghost alongside them (no puns intended) because Abby was like my sister, Ducky my eccentric uncle, Gibbs my father, and Tony... Tony was the almost-lover. I regretted that now.

_I regret everything, and I regret nothing._

* * *

Her name was Elodie and I met her in what I supposed to be my seventh or eighth month of wandering.

She'd been wandering for fifty-six years. She had a silver braid down her back and cat-like green eyes with pale-as-the-moon skin. Elodie was seventy-two when she died and kind, but Lord did she have a temper! I met her at a crime scene. As usual I'd followed Tony out here. I sometimes watched him sleep; okay, most nights I did.

The victim was her granddaughter Julie, who was my age when she died. Thirty, like me. Elodie had gone there to guide her and that's where I met her. She smiled softly at me.

"Hello. What's your name?" she had asked in her gentle voice.

"Kate. Yours?" I replied.

"Elodie," she responded, then chuckled sadly, "Julie's my granddaughter, my daughter Olive's baby. Poor thing. Never knew her. Died of a heart attack when Olive was just twelve."

After a while it wasn't strange for people to tell how they died, but most grew wary of me because of the horrid nature of my death.

"Why are you here? Did you know Julie?"

"No," I shake my head sadly, wistfully, almost, "Him-" I nod towards Tony, "Because of him."

"Ah. How long has it been?"

"Seven or eight months. I... I was shot in the head by a sniper," my eyes well up with tears.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Elodie looks genuinely sad and I decide that I like her already, "I'm so sorry. What was he to you?"

"My partner. My best friend. My life. The only person I've ever loved."

Just admitting it to someone felt good.

* * *

By Tony's birthday Elodie had taught me how to become part of people's dreams. I knew what I had to do. So I entered his mind, knowing the risks.

"Tony," I began softly.

"Kate," he breathed in his dream-voice.

We were on a bridge of some sort, a footbridge. I come over, smiling shyly, and take his hand and gently guide him to sit down.

"Why... how are you here?"

"Happy birthday, Tony."

We talked until I had to leave and he woke up crying and I felt bad, so bad.

But I'd held back. I hadn't been able, even in death, to say those three words.

_I love you_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I guess this is written because of some of my beliefs. :/ I don't really know what happens after death; who the hell does? But some days I feel like my gramma is with me. Whether that's insanity or spirituality, I do not know. :P In my story, Tony's birthday is January 25, 1972 and Kate's is May 27, 1975. Okay? Okay! :D Flashbacks, post-SWAK. In my story, SWAK takes place April 28 until April 29. Tony's back at work May 16; he goes home May 3. Another explanation for why Tony hates Sound of Music in Hiatus. :D I made up their middle names, too.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wah.**

It's been three days since I invaded Tony's dream. I know why I was too cowardly to tell him the truth; I could not bear to have him reject me, nor to hurt him so much that way. I went to Elodie sobbing and she soothed me, told me it'd be okay. I had loved Tony so much in such a short time that the memories were cruel, mocking, painful.

In this purgatory in which I wandered, I found that I still needed to sleep, to rest. I tried to fight it, but it was futile. I usually lay down beside Abby, because Abby was still loyal to me. Abby didn't hurt me like Tony did, with Ziva. I lie beside Abby now, watching the even intake of her breath, until I am lulled into a fitful slumber.

I dream of the only true time I had had a taste of love with Tony. It was bittersweet, really.

* * *

_May 3, 2005_

We're sitting in my car. It's May but it feels sort of like July with the humidity. It'll rain soon. I'm worried that Tony's going home too soon, but the doctors cleared him yesterday, and who am I to argue with them?

Right now, neither one of us tries to escape the jungle-like heat of my crappy car. He doesn't want to go inside and I don't really want to leave him. Finally he sighs, turns to me, and says with a small smile, "Well. I'm going to go in."

"Okay, then," I reply, nodding, albeit awkwardly.

"Tony?" I call out, and he hesitates at the door to his building.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come up, please?" I ask. He nods slowly, and I take a deep breath before I lose my nerve and drive off into the night.

I instantly regret it the minute we step into his apartment. It's immaculately clean; that's not the problem, far from it. The problem is that I'm alone with Tony DiNozzo, in his apartment, and I've been wanting to see it for far too long. But I don't voice this, and I can tell Tony is just as nervous. I smile inwardly to myself; has Tony felt this nervous around another woman before? I somehow doubt it. Like he said, he knows me. But I know him, too. And it's because of that that I know he certainly doesn't bring his one-night stands here. If he did, he probably wouldn't have let me in. Secondly, I know that women come easily for Tony DiNozzo and for him to be nervous... I must be something special. I hope.

"Hungry?" he finally asks, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that has descended upon us; I nod, grateful, relieved.

"I'll cook," I say quickly as he's starting the oven. He blinks at me, shrugs, mumbles a thank you, and heads to the living room.

"Want to watch Alien?" he asks and I can't help but laugh at his absurdity.

"Sure," I agree easily; hopefully the noise will distract me from... other things.

I sit with him as the chicken soup I'm cooking simmers. When it's done we eat quickly and talk, lapsing into a comfort zone. It's nearly eight at night. I wash the dishes and he starts another movie; this one is Sound of Music. Never figured him for that type, but hey, who the hell am I to judge? It's over at midnight.

"So, I guess I'd better be off," I sigh reluctantly.

He nods, "See you soon, Kate."

"I'll visit," I promise.

"Thanks," he smiles, genuinely happy. I smile, too, now standing, but making no move to leave.

"Can I...?"

"Sure," he answers, not making me finish. I exhale and sit back down.

"So, um..." I begin, blushing furiously. He grins.

"If I kissed you right now, would you slap me?" he asks.

"No," I stammer.

"Good," he whispers, lips an inch away from mine; his breath is hot, mingling perfectly with mine.

He leans closer and my eyes instinctively flutter shut. His lips brush softly, tenderly, shyly, almost, against mine. Then the feather-light sweetness of our first kiss is gone; his lips are pressing into mine, matching the shape. My arms twine around his neck and he pushes his tongue gently into my mouth. The languid, loving nature of this is beautiful, amazing, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before in my entire life. He's slow, matching my obvious pace. I moan a little impatiently into his mouth and fumble to pull his shirt off. He breaks the kiss for a short second, forehead pressed against mine as he lifts his shirt over his head. I smile and roam my hands across his muscular chest. I stamp butterfly-kisses all over his bare torso. I cannot get nearly enough of him; I must have more. My shirt soon follows his onto the floor; I watch it flutter to the ground. He runs his hands across my bra-clad breasts, learning every inch, every curve of my body.

Tony's arms scoop me up and I laugh, mumbling into his chest that he shouldn't overexert himself. He deposits me onto his bed and his gaze is so sweet and tender I almost shatter. I somehow manage, with shaky hands, to unbutton his jeans; he shucks them off, and his lips once again caress my already kiss-swollen mouth. His hands reach down my back and he undoes the clasp of my bra, sliding it gently, slowly off my shoulder. He proceeds to tease and tantalize each of my breasts until I am writhing beneath him, gasping and moaning, breathless with this blissful agony.

His boxers are next to go; my panties follow soon after.

"You sure about this?" he asks, and I nod, unable to find words.

He smiles shyly at me as he plunges into me. He lets me get used to him before slowly finding a rhythm. He gently flips us over and places his hands on my hips, guiding me. I scream out as I feel myself tightening around him. He thrusts upwards, grinding his hips into mine. I shatter once more and he's screaming my name and he's spilling himself within me. I collapse onto him, breathless once more. He doesn't move and neither do I. We take a few moments to collect ourselves.

"Wow," I finally manage.

He chuckles and repeats, "Wow."

I sigh and murmur into his chest, "Can I stay? Too tired to drive."

"Sure," he agrees easily, pulling the sheets over us.

I breathe a thank-you and my eyes close. Perhaps two hours later I am woken up and he's up, too. He flips us over wordlessly. This time it's slow, tranquil, almost lazy; but it's nice and we don't need to say anything. It's beautiful, our souls seeming to wrap around one another, two entities becoming one whole one, finally.

"I love you," he whispers into my hair. I stiffen and sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest.

"You don't mean that. You can't possibly mean that," I claim, scared out of my mind and panicking.

"Kate," he sighs. He combs his fingers through my hair and traces my name onto my bare back.

"Stop! Just stop!" I beg.

He instantly removes his fingers, sighing again, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face, "Kate..."

"Tony, I'm sorry. This was a mistake," I say quickly, out of the bed and picking up my clothes.

"Wait... don't go, Kate," he says, but I ignore him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I continue to chant, crying now, sobbing, in fact.

"Caitlin," he says, and I stop, blinking, to look at him. He's sitting now and he's crying, too. I've never seen Tony cry. It's unnerving. He's supposed to be the strong one. This is all wrong, so wrong. My fault, my fault. Our fault.

"Tony," I whisper, vigorously shaking my head back and force, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I can't do this. I can't. I'm sorry."

"Don't go, Katie. Please," he begs.

"Don't call me Katie!" I cry, "Please, Tony, don't do this to me. Don't make this any harder."

He sighs, "Alright."

"Thank you," I whisper, leaning down to brush my lips softly against his, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he mutters, "Anything for you."

I smile sadly, wistfully, regretfully, and leave, pulling on my clothes on my way out. I sit in the car and start it and it's on some country station Tony secretly likes and Whiskey Lullaby's playing. I begin to cry and sob again.

This is so wrong... so right...

* * *

I wake up crying and sobbing and Abby's crying, too. I realize I must have transferred my emotions to her. I frown, furrowing my brow and pursing my lips; this is new to me.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, "I'm sorry."

My soothing, comforting whispers calm Abby down. She sniffles and I drift away from her. I've already hurt my best friend far too much for my liking. I decide to visit my oldest brother, Patrick, and his wife, Delia. They have three kids; Mike, Jessie, and Hank. I like the kids.

I spend the day with them, and that night I find myself at Tony's apartment. My energy is sapped but I'm feeling courageous and giddy with nervous energy and anticipation. As soon as he is asleep, I enter his dream-world. We are once again sitting side-by-side on the footbridge.

"I love you," I whisper, and he looks over at me, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I love you. I love you so much, Tony."

"Kate..." he mumbles in his sleep incoherently, and I begin to cry.

"I have to go now..."

"Kate, please. Please don't leave me!" he begs, crying out in his sleep.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm out of his dream and I wish I'd never told him. I wish to God I didn't, but I did. Now it's irreversible; however, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Finally, I feel free.


End file.
